


this is not what anybody really wanted

by Anonymous



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Ajay Has Some Opinions About Things, M/M, No Chill November, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:14:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: (but) we're stuck here anyway so we might as well make the best of it.





	

So, in hindsight, it was stupid to have been blindsided by this.

Kyrat wasn’t America (obviously) and Sabal wasn’t exactly _Mister Lowkey_ about his feelings on… anything really, but especially not about his opinions on class differences of any kind.

“So you don’t endorse the use of pharmaceuticals for anything?” Ajay asked, disbelieving.

“Correct, brother.”

And the thing was— the thing was, Sabal actually looked normal saying that, like it wasn’t the kind of backwards bugshit crazy belief that only the more extremely intolerant religious factions in the States bought into, the kind of folks that got a leery side-eye from people in the same so-called religion and tended to have more _we’re not with them_ endorsements than _actual members._

Holy shit.

“Okay but.” Ajay couldn’t stop himself from persisting, even though he knew he was charging into an upsetting trainwreck of a conversation. “But, what about the drugs that keep people healthy?”

“ _Real_ medicine isn’t the problem, Ajay. It’s drugs that are influencing our people unnaturally, in ways that goes against what Kyra intended for us.”

“Okay but. Sabal, there’s a difference between opium and pills that just regulate hormones—”

“No, there isn’t! The people shouldn’t be—”

In a moment that surely had to be evidence of divine intervention to save Ajay’s sanity the door opened and there was Amita. Ajay shot her a desperate look and, after a brief hesitation where she assessed the tone and topic of Sabal’s rant, wrenched command of the room with a sneer.

“Is it arrogance that compels you to speak as if you truly care for _all_ Kyrati people, Sabal, or are you so deluded that you actually believe it?”

Sabal rounded on her, all righteous indignation. Amita could handle him, Ajay thought, not at all ashamed, and made a stealthy escape while Sabal was distracted.

.

So maybe Sabal had assumed he was beta when they first met.

(“Your father was too, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”)

(“Yeah, sure,” Ajay had wanted to say so badly, “but if you really believed it, then why did you feel the need to say it _like that_?”)

So maybe Ajay never corrected him. He sure as shit didn’t care.

Whatever. No need to make a big deal out of nothing, right?

Right.

.

Confession time. The U.S. was one of the more progressive countries as orientations went, but there was still a hierarchy because of course there was. If you were white and male and _not_ omega, then you were pretty secure as King ThickDick of Testosterone Mountain. White females—of the alpha, beta, and zeta classes, in that order—got the next slice of pie. Then white male omegas, then white female omegas, as you’d probably expect.

It wasn’t official. It wasn’t advertised. But that was the way it was. People didn’t have to like it, but they knew.

And after every white or white-passing person came the people who were obviously _not white._ Beta and zeta classes were preferable for their lack of challenge and lack of comprehension of the urge to challenge, respectively, still men over women. The latter two classes actually tended to be more equal in terms of birth genders, all alphas held up to the same standard, and finally, sharing dead last, men and women omegas were treated about the same.

Ajay Ghale was luckier than some. His natural scent was practically nonexistent, just like his mom, so he didn’t need to take suppressants, and they could afford a more expensive brand of pills to control the _other stuff_ when he turned out to be allergic to only kind sold in their crummy neighborhood general store.

But he was still very much

  1. not white
  2. omega
  3. poor



and

    4. full of rage-against-the-machine fever

So, when he was thirteen, he went and joined a gang. Not for any of the reasons listed above, but because his best friend Emily wanted to learn how to knife fight from her brother’s pals and that sounded like a damn fine idea to Ajay.

_Goddamn fine._

.

Note: for all that Ajay was more than happy to bitch for hours about how sexist and classist America was and how stupid he thought people were for trying to _ignore it like it wasn’t a real thing_ , Kyrat, he discovered, was much, much worse.

.

Horrifyingly enough, the one person out of the hundreds Ajay knew at this point in Kyrat who smelled anything resembling pleasant was Pagan Min. Ajay had gotten more than enough whiffs of the fruity-flowery perfume he wore (it made him want to find the biggest, brightest flower in the area and **c o n s u m e**  it, god help him) and he hadn’t even appreciated it because he couldn’t have known what was coming.

It had taken less than a day for him to find out that fucking nobody else took suppressants.

And, yeah, they weren’t technically necessary like food and water and shelter but they were important like deodorant was important. It just wasn’t polite to go around unwashed and smelling like body funk when there were cheap and available prevention methods. The public might make unkind assumptions and recoil from you otherwise.

That hadn’t caught on in Kyrat apparently.

It occurred to Ajay that he was, perhaps, being an elitist American snob, but after his nose straight up stopped working and the overpowering reek of so many alphas in one place gave him a throbbing headache, he decided he could live with that. Nobody was perfect.

And the total lack of suppressants was something Ajay could come to grips with in time, but Sabal’s view on hormone readjustment and birth, heat, and rut control was far from uncommon and seriously, what the fuck. What the actual literal shitting fuck.

Of course, it was fine because it benefited _Sabal_ to get surges in aggression and single-minded focus every couple of days a month. He was a freedom fighter—he could use that.

So what if there was more infighting because nobody could keep their goddamn cool over who was using what gun or somebody stole something and the former owner immediately started a brawl with the last person who slighted them? So what if the (very, very few) omegas got weepy and clingy sometimes when they could be spending their time doing literally anything else instead of having their pheromone-soaked brain dicking them around for a laugh?

And of course, Sabal assumed that because _his_ rut was only three days every month and fairly mild at that, everyone else’s would be too, or at least they could handle it with similar composure.

Ajay wanted to scream at his stupid face because that was _not how it worked,_ because Ajay lost his heat pills along with his bag, and his episodes lasted two weeks every month because fuck him, that’s why.

He hadn’t even really needed to keep track of them for years because the pills staved the whole ugly affair off to the very end of year, when he usually holed up somewhere for half a month, typically with a friend in case he went out of his actual fucking mind, which happened on occasion. Often. Often on occasion.

...whatever. He could manage it, was the point.

He’d been off for over three weeks with no symptoms, thankfully, but it was catching up to him now like it always did. 

He could think of only one person who might be able and willing to help.

Ignoring the urge to curl up in his temporary home and just nap for a minute, maybe an hour, five hours max, and see if that fixed his problems (he had tried this tactic before, to no avail, but it was still tempting) Ajay went to find Amita.

**Author's Note:**

> all ajay wants is this nonsense to stop. i apologize. it's not going to stop.


End file.
